


Faith

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:53:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Faith by Te

ArchiveX: 27 July 1998  
Faith  
by Te  
6/98  
Disclaimers: Neither Mulder, nor Skinner, nor even Scully belong to me. Yet.   
Spoilers: Not a one.  
Ratings Note: NC-17 for some questionable language, and m/m squelchy fun.  
Archiving Information: Please ask first.  
Author's Note: This is for the most sadistic Kassandra, to whom I sold my soul for Mr. X/Krycek. I do not regret the decision. ;-) Also, this can be considered a possible sequel to "Challenges," though it's certainly not necessary to have read that story to understand this one.  
Thanks & Acknowledgments: To my beloved Sister Blue, for location, validation and inspiration on long, long legs. Also to Alicia for putting aside her massive squick with M/Sk to beta this for me, and to JiM and Dawn for helpful comments. And to BethLynn for the pet care products...  
All feedback to: . Please?

* * *

Faith  
by Te

******

River Front Motel  
New Orleans, Louisiana

Fox Mulder was alone. It had been a bad one. Three solid weeks on loan to the New Orleans bureau office, trying to catch yet another in a seemingly endless parade of yesterday's troubled youth. He wondered, not for the first time, where to set the dividing line. When did a victim become a criminal, just another vicious little predator to be ground into meat

//for the beast//

for the nation's correctional facilities? He snorted to himself and took in the questionable splendor of his room. Frame bed, water damaged wallpaper, and a coverlet whose color scheme suggested nothing less than the mottled back of some sewer-bound cockroach midway through the evolution process. 

//The awkward millennia.//

When they'd arrived, the local SAC had offered to put them up at the Maison Pierre La Fitte, an obvious attempt to placate the adopted pet profiler. At first Scully had agreed to hole up at the River Front with him, but when she'd stuck to the carpeting in the lobby...

But places like this had their advantages. Even with the moderately frightening sink next to the bed, being here *was* better. What was the real difference between profiling and method acting, after all? You immerse yourself in the trappings of your quarry's existence in an attempt to know him, become him-- if only for a time. And, no matter where he was, these squalid little holes had a pleasant sameness. Someone had stayed here, fucked or died or hid here... and damn if they didn't all leave their marks. But as... something... skittered behind the next wall, Mulder did occasionally wish for nicer trappings.

1:57 a.m. and he'd just gotten off the phone with Scully. Disappointing on any number of levels, really. There was a time when she'd have let him ramble on until well past three. 

//Must be losing your quirky charm, Mulder...//

And times like these... Well, he could admit it. A voice of sanity, of normality and simple human decency was precisely what he needed right now. Some solid, tangible proof that the world had more to offer than just a great sucking wound that begged for a gun in its maw. Mulder put his head in his hands and chuckled darkly. It was time to get the hell out of here. 

******

There was something very wrong about a city in the wee hours. It was simple human nature that the vast majority of the world slept at this time, but he'd never gotten past the naive hope that it would somehow be different in the crowded places, that other spirits besides his own would leave their burrows to roam under the unnatural skies. 

He'd catalogued dozens of skies in his lifetime, and had never quite decided which made him angriest. The orange-mauve of New York got points for being the ultimate example of loveliness in corruption, and this somehow soothing purple-grey, replete with the stench of polluted waters, had definite potential... but he thought that Washington remained the worst. That deep, royal blue bordering on indigo. When you added all the glimmering marble it seemed the perfect, shining example of the City at night. It was a lie, of course. Anything close to a steady look and the blue revealed its blandness. Nothing here, look down, look away, little worm. Just one richly colored veil... Nubilis, nubere... He toyed with the idea of holy matrimony and its relationship to a mendacious sky for a while, dreamy half-smile on his face, drifting through thick, heavy silence as yet another metaphor screamed and twisted for mercy within his mind.

Some twenty minutes later Mulder found himself staring up at the unrepentantly ostentatious facade of St. Michael's Cathedral. For a brief moment he considered going in, imagined the vaulted ceilings, the softly nutty scent of old to ancient candle wax, the occasional tantalizing brush of incense... Why did people save such things for the religious? 

//I need... something.//

What sort of God hoarded such rarities of human beauty for Himself? It was an old bitterness, a fruit that had arrived at a certain level of rancidity and decided to *hold* to it. You had to admire the tenacity. Mulder stood on the steps hesitantly. He really didn't have anywhere to be, and the old fantasy of being burnt by the coolly gleaming brass of the metal pushbar had only fleeting entertainment value.

"Looking for absolution, Agent Mulder?"

The roughly professional tone had the same effect it always did. An infinitesimal, automatic stiffening in his spine, the hastily quashed desire to come to attention. He took a moment to settle himself before turning with deliberate slowness, executing a perfectly calculated sprawl against the doors that left his back *just* clear of the bar. 

"Just looking for something to do, Walter."

The steps gave him a rare vantage point over the older man, but he knew it wouldn't last. Times like these it never did... not in quite this way, at least. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Mulder caught the gleam of streetlights on strong even teeth...

"I think I could help with that."

"Could you?"

"Come and see..."

Mulder remained still against the old, dark wood for another few seconds, longing for the ability to pierce the glare hiding those deep chocolate eyes. A slow blink to register another failure of the night, and he moved slowly down the steps to face Skinner. 

"What are you doing here, Walter?"

The older man moved in, giving his cheek a slow and thorough nuzzle before settling a smile against his ear.

"Why do you always make this so difficult?"

It was a good question, and he resolved to give it some serious thought, but for now his palms ached to rest against muscled flesh, to run their fingers through still-dark hair and tug and tease...

"Me first."

Powerful arms slipped around him, parting ways at the center of his spine to glide simultaneously down to his ass and up to his nape. Mulder remembered that first night, so cold but a thumb had pressed right *there*, digging gently into his scalp and making his body fluid in Walter's startled grasp. Another secret revealed and yes touch me there just like that. His eyes had closed but there was heat beyond the irrelevancies of the air just out of reach of his mouth and that thumb stroked and rubbed and pressed...

"Vacation, Mulder..."

He'd known for years that this alone could bring him almost there, had long since given up the struggle to deny its power over him from lovers. It was the only possible way to cope with the indignity of having such an obvious trigger, but still, when the *other* hand cupped him firmly and brought him close... A hardness against his own, so effectively hidden by the deceptive light and shadow of the city night... and that carefully adjusted trench. 

Mulder wanted to laugh but could only gasp at the discreetly powerful thrusts. He wondered if Skinner really, truly believed that such an impressive display of control at this moment would disguise the nature of their meeting from any unfortunately prying eyes. Or was he just bragging? Mmm.... Semper Fi... and then thought and wonder and cynicism were swallowed in the touch of expensive brandy and desire that entered his mouth with simple, calm possession. 

It never lasted, though. His mind wouldn't, couldn't seem to allow the impression of docility. Not for very long. He forced himself to submit to the kiss for a small stretch of eternity, before demanding with a series of small nips to have his arms freed, pushing the older man away with a lingering brush against buttoned, hidden abdomen.

"I *do* have a motel room."

"That's exactly what I was afraid of."

Mulder smirked. "You have to admit there's a certain charm to--"

"No. I don't."

This time he let the laugh free, soft, subtle, and private in the stagnant air. "Then where?" He moved forward, sliding his arms around the older man and resting his lips against Walter's throat, treasuring the brief shudder. "Hmmm...? An alley, your taxi, a confessional booth...?"

The hands had found there way back, stealthily, to his ass and squeezed hard, making Mulder bite back a hiss in the pulsing vein of the neck before him. 

"I... presume you didn't... take the time to get your *own* hotel room?"

The answering silence was only distressing for a moment-- the hands continued to rove and grip without a pause. Mulder tried to pin down the first time he had felt this simple... 

//faith//

confidence with another person, the ease that allowed (only semi-joking) references to his own irresistibility, the comfort that could wash it all away... He really, really didn't want to go back to the River Front. He felt lips nest briefly in his hair.

"So damned *difficult*... We *could* rectify that obvious error now?"

"That we could..."

His quick capitulation froze the other man, and the roil of pleasure and guilt was dizzying. Mulder could feel questions rumbling up through the massive chest. A pre-emptive strike of lips and a slow threading of fingers through fingers. 

"Let's go, Walter."

******

The Radisson was far, far too nice. It was one thing to lose oneself in the crush of another person, but it was hard to slough the debris of that other world. He had wandered onto the wrong stage. This place was not him, not now. Mulder stared at his reflection in the mirrored elevator doors across the lobby, took in the mussed hair, the tattered jeans and t-shirt, and felt like nothing more nor less than some rapidly aging rentboy. As Skinner tucked his credit card away he leaned in to whisper. "I'll expect you to leave the money on the nightstand, Sir."

Walter whirled to face him with shock and more than a little anger. 

"What are you--"

The older man's face softened abruptly as brown eyes flicked swiftly over cream walls, gold leaf... before finally returning to Mulder. A brief clenching of jaw, a narrowing of eyes, and then Skinner was loosening his tie and placing it deliberately around Mulder's neck, executing a perfect Windsor knot. The younger man just stared. Walter gave the knot an utterly unnecessary adjustment. Mulder's lips twitched. Walter made as if to snag a briefcase momentarily abandoned on the counter. 

This was quickly growing ridiculous. Mulder laughed and clutched the older man's arm, earning a quicksilver grin that made him squeeze involuntarily. Walter grabbed the key card instead and carefully removed the hand from his arm, running the strip of plastic along Mulder's jaw. 

"Shall we?"

******

"What floor did you say we were on?"

"Nineteenth."

"Hmmm..."

"Just what, exactly, did you have in mind, Mulder?"

Mulder toyed idly with the tie, and gave the railing a pointed glance. There really was little in this world more satisfying than watching the iron control crumble. Under that solid mass lay fault lines, and there were times--when he gave him that look, when he spoke in that tone--when Mulder could almost feel the earth trembling with the force of Skinner's passion. He wanted to roll with it, to lie down upon that fleshy earth and be taken by the shuddering inevitability of it all, to find some flash of oneness, some brief approximation of faith. He took a step toward the older man, smiling slightly, and was surprised at the depth of rage he felt when the elevator chimed at the third floor. 

Drunken tourists. Twenty-fourth floor. Joy. Skinner was grinning at him with evil amusement over the heads of the teenagers. 

//Oh, really?//

As the elevator began to rise again, Mulder undid the tie as slowly as he possibly could, watching Walter from beneath half-lidded eyes. When it was free of his neck he caught a brief taste of the other man's scent from the silk, and entertained thoughts of running it over his face... perhaps between his legs... but focused for a moment on the innocent (if drink-flushed) faces of their companions and decided to have done with corruption. For now. He settled for smoothing the silk around his wrists, winding and threading and winding some more, knowing the other man would catch only tantalizing glimpses of his play through the constantly shifting bodies between them. After a time he could feel Walter's gaze on his face, but resisted the urge to meet it for fear of his reaction. He found himself grateful for the relative speed of the elevator.

******

"A dog-grooming glove? What did *you* have in mind, Walter?"

A briskly professional walk down the quiet hallway, a slow, chuckling, mutual removal of clothing, and an insistent Assistant Director had them here, bare-ass naked in the sumptuous bathroom attached to room 1954. The older man had briefly left him alone as the tub was filling, claiming to have forgotten something, only to return with the electric blue latex glove. With lots of little rubber nubs. Mulder supposed he could grow accustomed to Skinnerkink...

An innocent blink. "I just wanted to get all traces of the River Front off you, Mulder."

"Uh-huh."

"Get in the tub?"

"You won't be joining me?"

"Not for the moment..."

Mulder grinned and settled himself gently into the steaming water, watching the other man pull the ridiculous glove on before plunging it into the bathwater... a good two feet away from any available skin.

"Tease."

Walter raised an eyebrow and gazed at him sternly. The look would probably have been more effective were the lenses not completely obscured with steam, and Mulder leaned forward helpfully to remove them, stroking the older man's ears slightly while he did so. A lingering kiss on the inside of his wrist, but no other contact as Walter reached across him for the soap.

The first touch of slick rubber to his chest made Mulder squirm. Ticklish, lightly painful as the glove caught and dragged... He pressed into the caress, encouraging Skinner to roam. Delicious to feel it scrub slowly over his back, up his legs, only to be removed to get more lather... down his arms and when he grabbed it with his own hand the soft groan Walter returned was exquisite. Back to his chest to linger just a little too long over nipples that craved the subtle torture.

"Walter..."

The hand stilled in the center of his torso before sliding down and down and beneath the water to grip him gently--and then continued. Mulder decided he'd never be able to look at pet care products quite the same way again. A slow, delicate massage along his perineum and beyond and he found himself bracing his feet precariously along the sides of the tub and his spine against the back in a slippery effort to give the other man easier access. The hand shifted, a finger made tiny circling movements along his entrance and suddenly Walter's mouth was claiming his own in a roughly brief kiss.

"Jesus, Walter... let me come..."

And finally, finally the hand ceased its teasing and began to stroke him, slowly at first to test his sensitivity, but when Mulder began to buck (losing his tenuous balance on the porcelain, slamming his calf hard enough to bruise, and splashing water all over the place), Skinner complied with the silent pleas for speed and Mulder could feel his hips twist and writhe in a battle with himself to both escape and feel more of the curious sensation.

//*This* is what I needed...//

And then he was losing himself, faceless predator, dusty hustler, FBI Agent it was fading to ash, all of it meaningless, helpless against the force of his orgasm and he might have been screaming...

The patter of water on his chest, the deep gurgle that warned of the plug's removal, and he made his way back to something resembling himself. Walter had turned the shower on and was in the process of joining him in the tub. 

"Hello there..."

"Planning on standing anytime soon, Mulder?"

The younger man pursed his lips in consideration, watched the play of muscles in strong calves as Skinner shifted. In one smooth motion he had risen to his knees and darted his head around to nip at the back of the older man's thigh. He was rewarded with a slight buckle and grinned against Walter's skin.

"No."

Mulder kissed his way back around front. "No?" A catch in the gruff voice. Glorious.

"I think I may have found something to do."

******  
End.  
******


End file.
